


Something Unspoken

by knifewingo



Category: Naruto
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 00:32:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14437569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knifewingo/pseuds/knifewingo
Summary: Haku wrestles with his desire for his injured mentor - in only the most angst ridden way





	Something Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hideaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hideaki/gifts).



> I've been in this fandom for all of 32 hours and I've lost control of my life. This is the first fanfic I've ever written! Woo! There's more to come. I hope you enjoy!

This warmth - it isn’t fleeting - as the earth rolls lazily into summer. Haku’s feet find a patch of it, golden and unbroken by those listing, scattered leaves that pattern his pale skin. He feels it soak into him, as he buries his toes into sweet emerald grass. When his eyes flutter closed he sees flashes of peace - of stretching out in it like a beloved house cat, the fine tuned fragility of a tamed predator. In this fantasy, his head rests against another warmth, deep and soothing, that rises and falls like the tide. He hears the heartbeat echoing in his ear - he knows, he knows it’s his own, but in this second he can dream. Can almost feel his arm draped around him, heavy and chiselled as marble and gentle as snowfall - Zabuza’s hand cradling his.  
It would be so easy - just now, while he sleeps - in the mahogany shadows of this old hut - to curl up beside him and listen to him breathe. He could be away again in a breath and Zabuza would never know. Haku had slipped from the jaws of death so many times, left master swordsmen baffled in his absence - but Zabuza - he knew - would catch him.  
To know your own strength - in combat, in life - is more valuable than all of the gold in the world.  
And Haku knew, beyond a doubt, he wouldn’t have the strength to move away.  
That breeze, singing so sweetly though the brittle leaves, bites with bitter chill as it toys with loose strands of his ebony hair. Heavy with rain - he tastes it. Growing up buried in snow, his tongue is as deft at anticipating the weather as his hands are at killing. A chill seeps though his spine and he shivers - the soft pads of his slender fingers are cold as ice - but when are they ever not? He turns to watch his master slumber as he hugs his own arms. His breath catches as the movement bruises his sore ribs but he grits his teeth through the pain. Zabuza squirms and murmurs in his sleep - his rough, blunt face is twisted into a frown, his teeth locked as he grimaces through his discomfort. A flash of oozing crimson stains the bandages wrapped snugly to his wide chest - Haku did his best, of course, but even he can’t spare the Demon of the Bloody Mist Village from his restless nights. His short jet hair is slicked to his scalp and even in the shade, his grooved forehead glistens.  
Haku eases himself to his feet - so light, the floorboards barely creak beneath him. Zabuza groans as he kneels beside him, as his delicate fingers begin to loosen the dressing. But Zabuza is huge, heavy as a lion, and despite his best efforts Haku can’t shift the wrappings from his torso. His knife whispers from its sheath - he holds his breath as he presses the blunt side to Zabuza’s hot skin - the cold steel jolts him awake and before Haku can even begin to cut away the fabric, his master’s grip has encased his wrist.  
“What are you doing?” he snarls gruffly - his voice rumbles in his lungs like distant thunder. A single sliver of grey watches Haku from his heavy sunken eyelids. His wrist is birch kindling in Zabuza’s fist, fragile as a bird in a bear trap. His racing heart wants to wrench away from his grip but his touch, even now, as harsh as iron, is electrifying.  
“I’m sorry,” Haku breathes - he palms the knife and presses his hand to Zabuza’s scalding chest - the seeping blood violently vibrant on his snow white skin. For a second Zabuza’s eyes widen, his breath quickens as Haku spreads his hand over his heart. “Your wound - I didn’t mean to wake you.”  
Zabuza’s grip softens and his hand sinks gently to Haku’s lap. He makes a noise that, had it been anyone else, might have been a whimper. But Haku has never heard even the faintest hint of weakness from him. Zabuza’s cheeks redden, very faintly, and he casts his eyes from Haku’s face.  
“Alright,” he clears his throat, as if that might hide the glimmer of shame that colours his eyes. His wrist is numb, where Zabuza grasped him. He wonders if he felt his pulse - if he marked the surge of Haku’s heart as fear, or thrill. Even now, Haku isn’t sure he wants him to know the truth, if he doesn’t already.  
He slices the fabric apart with the honed focus of an artisan. Zabuza winces as it tugs at the rust crystals that seal it to his skin, pointed teeth sinking into his dry lip. Haku hushes him, with that aloof authority only he can handle so well. Of course, Zabuza obeys. The pale moss clings to him as he wrings it over the scarlet gash - water turns rosy pink immediately as it trickles from the raw, buckled skin, leaves glistening trails on Zabuza’s skin. He moans as Haku dabs it dry, a strained sound, guttural and harsh, as if betraying his pain would kill him. Perhaps he does it for Haku, morphs his cry into one of distaste or annoyance, so the boy won’t worry. It makes him smile, to think that Zabuza cares about his feelings at all.  
The horsehair thread catches gold in the light, the needle flashing like a falling star. Zabuza grimaces, tucks a wad of stained bandage into his mouth and bites down. His breath is already harsh and muffled - Haku wishes there was something he could do to make this easier. Seeing his master suffer - its enough to tear him in half.  
“I’ll be gentle,” Haku promises, softly. Sweating, Zabuza cracks a crooked smile.  
“You always are,” he purrs. His voice chases along Haku’s spine like oiled fingertips. What he wouldn’t give just to show Zabuza how gentle he can be. Not just with needles, bandage, and sphagnum moss - or summoned ice to soothe his wounds.  
As if he can sense it, Zabuza turns back to him. Slowly, reaches a trembling hand to touch Haku’s smooth face. His skin is rough, calloused - and though he’s so unpracticed at gentleness Haku feels him so desperately trying his best. Zabuza holds him like he’s made of glass, as he traces the line of his jaw, strokes his cheek. Haku isn’t sure when his heart last beat. Frost grips his lungs as Zabuza’s square thumb traces his lips - over his delicate cupid’s bow and the swell of his lower lip as he parts them. His eyes are wide, breath shaking - as if he’s not in control of his actions. It takes him a moment but Haku’s hand glides over his wrist - holds his master’s fingers as he presses his lips to his thumb.  
“I wish -” Haku murmurs - his lips dance on Zabuza’s skin. From the corner of his eye, he sees his master gulp. Ruby droplets have risen to the crest of the wound again. How they sparkle like stars as they catch the sun. He knows he should see a comet in them - or some other fell omen - but in the quiet moments he finds himself praying for these gasps of intimacy. Of course, he feels Zabuza’s pain as his own, watching him suffer, tear himself apart for his dream - Haku would rather die than see it again. But at moments like this, when Zabuza is so soft and fragile beneath his palm - Haku wouldn’t change them for the world.  
“I wish it had been me. Hurt. Instead of you.” He bows his head - Zabuza catches the lock of hair that falls free and carefully tucks it behind Haku’s ear. His eyes soften, just a little - that same wisp of kindness, restless inquisitiveness, that Haku had seen in him all those years ago.  
“Are you sure?” There’s a curl of wryness to his smile, a glint in his tired eyes - like he knows. Perhaps that’s just wishful thinking on Haku’s part. He pictures - for a second - his own body beneath his master’s hands - Zabuza trying so hard to soothe him, to heal him, with the same endearing clumsiness he held him with now. He feels the tightness of the bandages as Zabuza pulls them taut - as he pinches the wound shut with herbs he’s ground to paste between those jagged teeth. And - it goes without saying- the person he cares for most in the entire world healthy and safe and nursing him with the focus and care with which he tends his vicious sword.  
His tongue ties itself around his own desires he wants so desperately to ask for his affection, just this once - just one kiss - but he can’t. His voice dies in his throat. This limbo was torturous but it wasn’t the hell of his rejection. Just the thought of it was enough to knot a twist of lead into Haku’s gut. There wasn’t a place for him in this world if it wasn’t at Zabuza’s side - and being driven away because he wasn’t able to control his emotions? That was another dagger in his heart he didn’t need.  
“I hate to see you like this,” he breathes hotly - Zabuza feels Haku’s skin burn, traces the flush of red that swells behind his fringe with tender curiosity. “I swear - I’ll never let harm come to you again. Master.”  
Zabuza lifts himself onto his elbows, slides back until his shoulders meet the wall. Slowly, so he doesn’t tear the stitches any further. Haku’s eyes flash with alarm and he moves to stop him - no master, don’t, but Zabuza clasps his hands in his own. He leans forward until their eyes are level, their noses almost touching. Haku freezes, a hare seeing the white tiger finally rise from the undergrowth. The slightest movement and the illusion will be shattered. He feels Zabuza’s breath on his skin, cushioned by the scent of metal and sharp, dark earth that clings to him always. Salt sweat like ocean foam and raw russet blood, carried by the heat of his pulse.  
“Haku,” Zabuza murmurs. His spine stings like he’s been lashed - his shoulders quiver, and his hands tighten in his master’s. Zabuza speaks his name so fondly, so reverently, like he’s calling on a spirit. Even now he speaks with a sacred voice - as if he should avert his eyes. But when has a demon ever looked away from a mere mortal. Without losing Haku’s quivering gaze he dips his head, presses his rough lips to Haku’s bloody palm. His tongue darts over his fingers, a dash of warmth, as he tastes his own blood. Haku tries to fold his sigh between his lips but Zabuza hears, of course he does, and as he kisses his skin again he feels him smile. Whole body trembling, and suddenly heavy as lead, Haku rests his forehead against Zabuza’s damp hair. Breathes the untempered scent of him. Wants so badly to drag his fingertips through it. Zabuza pushes into his touch like a needy cat, rolls his face into Haku’s delicate bare neck. Nudges the tender space between his jaw and throat with his nose, grazes his collarbone with his sandpaper jaw. He smiles so faintly as he plants a loaded kiss on his throbbing jugular, as Haku gasps so sweetly beneath him.  
“Nothing can hurt me, as long as I have you.”


End file.
